Harvest of the Digital Revolution
The reason behind the digital revolution was simple. On August 15, to commemorate the completion of ID Office 1.0, every employee received a bonus worth ten to twenty thousand dollars, with the promise of additional running guarantees based on future sales. Everyone was waiting with bated breath, and Yoo Jae-won was more than happy to open his wallet. The difficulty lay in striking the right balance.
"Would ten percent be fair?"
That meant setting aside 2.3 million dollars—ten percent of the 23 million—to be distributed as performance bonuses across the entire Silicon Valley branch. Not only programmers, but Remington, Ellen, and even the general office staff would receive a share.
"Ah, the flagship store employees too." The success of ID Office belonged to everyone who had worked as one, so the circle of reward widened accordingly.
Counting heads brought the total to just under fifty. Dividing 2.3 million dollars among them yielded roughly forty-six thousand dollars each. To Yoo Jae-won, who carried twenty-first-century sensibilities, the sum felt modest, yet in 1989 America it matched the annual salary of a solid white-collar position.
He trimmed the flagship store crew's portion slightly—they had only just begun—and increased the shares for Remington and Ellen, who had been with him from the start. Programmers would receive differentiated amounts according to individual contribution.
"This should work."
Using ID Office's own spreadsheet, he calculated the final figures. Remington topped the list at around one hundred thousand dollars. Flagship store staff received the smallest sums: three thousand for regular crew, five thousand for managers. Programmers fell between forty and sixty thousand.
He worried the amounts were too small, yet cheers erupted across the American branch. The lowest-paid flagship employee earned roughly three hundred dollars a week; this bonus was ten times that. Programmers received a sum equal to their entire annual salary. Their jaws stayed open in disbelief.
American media ran stories about ID Technology's 2.3-million-dollar bonus feast. After the ID Office Security Challenge and the Microsoft trial had already raised its profile nationwide, the company's name climbed once more. In Silicon Valley, at least, ID Technology now stood shoulder to shoulder with Microsoft and Intel.
Greater visibility brought greater scrutiny, but it also opened doors. Retailers no longer needed extravagant incentives; many now approached first, seeking partnerships. Even major chains like Circuit City, with dozens of stores across the country, reached out.
Talent acquisition grew easier as well. Remington had once made three visits to recruit an experienced lead programmer like Dave Rogers; now a single headhunter call usually secured an immediate yes. The news was especially welcome as they prepared to staff the Android Alpha patch and the official 1.0 version built on the Unix kernel.
The third harvest was not money, but people.
"I'm sorry I couldn't reach you sooner… Ah—no, I apologize." The man who slipped into casual speech before hastily correcting himself was Lee Chan-soo. After a summer spent pushing Arae-a Hangul, he had finally accepted its limits and come to find Yoo Jae-won.
"Please, there's no need. I'm simply grateful you've come now."
"Thank you for your kindness." Lee Chan-soo exhaled in relief. It had been a turbulent summer. Arae-a Hangul had launched to decent reviews—light enough to run on XT machines and capable of printing Hangul cleanly on inexpensive nine-pin printers. Yet ID Office proved a formidable rival, and the release of ID Word Processor Lite, which ran smoothly even on 286 machines, further eroded its position.
The final blow came from piracy. On the first day of sales, more than ten illegal copies circulated for every legitimate one sold. Eventually, genuine copies stopped moving altogether. Bootleg disks sold for a thousand won each. Individual sales were abandoned; attempts to sell to corporations, schools, and government offices fared no better—most had already adopted ID Office. Given that America remained Korea's largest trading partner, this was inevitable. While fax handled routine correspondence, large document exchanges relied on FTP, and those files were IDW format. Only ID Office could open them. Even Ilseong Group, hardly friendly toward ID Technology, had rolled out the suite in its export departments.
Yoo Jae-won welcomed Lee Chan-soo warmly at the Yeoju office. Although a Seoul meeting would have been simpler, Lee Chan-soo had judged his own decision belated and made the trip himself.
"I was actually about to begin preparations for ID Office 2.0."
Confusion flickered across Lee Chan-soo's face. Barely two months had passed since version 1.0 launched, yet the next iteration was already in motion.
"I intend to release a new version every year. If we want something ready by next August, we must start now. I'd like you to serve as lead producer for the word processor module."
The timing could not have been better.
"Lead producer?" Lee Chan-soo was startled that someone with no notable track record had been offered such responsibility. To Yoo Jae-won, however, Lee Chan-soo was already proven. His business instincts might have been unremarkable, but his skill in creating and refining Arae-a Hangul was beyond question.
Fearing hesitation, Yoo Jae-won immediately presented the prepared employment contract. The base salary for a lead producer began at 1.5 million won; with allowances, bonuses, and incentives, the total package rivaled major corporations. The only drawback was that Lee Chan-soo's performance rating for the current year stood at zero. While others celebrated harvest season, he would receive nothing—yet there was no reason to award money without merit. Strong contributions to ID Office 2.0 would bring a substantial bonus next year.
After carefully reviewing both the employment contract and the confidentiality agreement bristling with stern clauses, Lee Chan-soo affixed his seal.
"So… I report here every day?" Relief softened his expression as he glanced around the cluttered Yeoju office—formerly Kang Chan-ho's advertising shop, now stacked with ID Office packaging materials.
"No." The Korean headquarters development team currently consisted of Yoo Jae-won alone, yet his output already surpassed the entire Silicon Valley team. Working from home had been sustainable until now, but the workload was about to expand dramatically: the Android Alpha patch, the Unix kernel for version 1.0, ID Office 2.0, and more. A proper Korean team was required.
"I'll arrange space for you at the Seoul branch first. You'll receive the latest computers, of course. Spend time there studying our source code and design documents until you're comfortable with our coding style and philosophy. Once that's done, you can begin sketching the vision for 2.0. That office is temporary; we're already constructing a dedicated development facility. I'm confident you'll like it."
"Ah, I see." The new workspace would occupy the second floor of the flagship store building on Rodeo Street in Gangnam. Though the ceilings were low, the floor area was generous. Until recently it had housed a Mirae Construction affiliate; converting the ground floor into retail space and the upper floor into development offices felt ideal. For now the team numbered only two, but growth would come quickly.
The final harvest was real estate. On October 25, compensation from the Land Development Corporation arrived: exactly 49.46 billion won. The original figure had exceeded 50 billion, but roughly 500 million had gone to taxes.
"Only 500 million?" Transferring the land had been a sale, and the capital gain had been enormous, yet the tax burden remained modest. In this era, no progressive taxation existed on excess profits; rates were applied uniformly, and land transactions carried far lower levies than apartments or houses. Even a tenfold profit attracted only a few hundred million in tax—thanks to influential landowners who kept rates low.
The Ministry of Finance had recently announced a 50 percent increase in capital gains tax, but new towns such as Ilsan and Bundang remained exempt, and loopholes abounded. In any case, Yoo Jae-won's finances had grown robust. The single deposit dwarfed everything he had earned through years of effort in America.
With funds secured, the promised land transaction with Mirae Construction proceeded. Since Yoo Jae-won and Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon had already reached agreement, agents handled the details. Chief of Staff Choi Kang-wook represented ID Technology; Jeon Jae-gu, second son of Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon and newly appointed chairman of Mirae Construction, signed for Mirae Group. Jeon Jae-gu appeared generous at the signing, evidently believing the role secured his future as group chairman.
Immediately after acquiring the building and land, ID Technology began preparations for the flagship store opening.
An unexpected bonus sweetened the harvest. Sambo Computer had successfully realized Yoo Jae-won's design. Four prototype Egg PCs—sleek all-in-one machines housed in transparent green plastic—arrived at his door. Performance was flawless; the design, perfect.
"Hmm. It feels as though we're marshaling our forces before a decisive battle."
At the end of October, while reviewing the books, Yoo Jae-won allowed himself the thought. He had not planned the timing, yet settlements from Wolfenstein, ID Office, the Bundang land deal, and various other payments had all converged in October. The new weapon—the Egg PC—had also reached prototype stage at the perfect moment. Though labeled a prototype, its finish was so complete it could ship immediately. Produced exactly to specification and entirely by hand, it bore no flaws. It looked as though they were preparing for war—tightening internal discipline while forging a secret weapon.
In truth, war was imminent. Two fronts, in fact. One was Comdex, the world's largest computer show. The other was the formal trial at U.S. Federal District Court. Both pitted them against Microsoft. Microsoft's rebuttal was due at the end of October, setting the trial for early November. Microsoft had also announced its participation in Comdex—an event it normally skipped. The move, revealed late in October, made its wariness of ID Technology unmistakable.
"But what does it matter?"
Yoo Jae-won spared Microsoft little thought. His true target was Comdex itself. He intended for ID Technology to be the first name that came to mind whenever anyone—experts or organizers—thought of the 1989 show. Preparations were complete. He counted the days until November, teeth clenched in anticipation.